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We haven’t spoken since I left the Village.
He sends me texts to check in on me. Sends gifts. Food, mostly. He knows I’ll return anything expensive or meaningful.
My favorite thing he’s given me?
A pink and green steering wheel cover, the fabric covered in little white bunnies. I kept that.
The red Honda NSX supercar he sent me the first week I moved into my new apartment? Had to go back. That car was gorgeous, fully loaded, with a buttery, cream-colored leather interior. After allowing myself one spin around the block, I had it returned to him.
I don’t have a real kitchen, just a little half kitchen, but my mini fridge is filled with chicken pesto pasta, steak, and veggies from the café. My cabinet has cookies and croissants.
And the one thing that brings a tear to my eye? Almost every single morning there’s a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting at my door. Now, I lift the cup from my cupholder, taking a big sip.
As I pull into the parking lot, I finish the coffee. Tuck my thoughts about him away. Turn the key and cut the ignition. “Time to get to work.”
The guys all offer me high fives and fist bumps as I walk into the garage. The scent of motor oil and gasoline hits me. I love it. I love the smells. The sounds. The cars. I hear the hiss of air and steam, the clang of metal against metal, the whirring of motors, the ring of a phone.
Finally saw my first landline the day I came in for my interview. It was sitting on my boss’s desk. Hank refuses to get a cell phone.
I’m surrounded by my machinery, my tools, my manuals. I feel warmth from the furnaces in the back. Hank also refuses to invest in an HVAC unit. I see the counter with tools to the left, three grease-stained bays in the center, a workbench to the right, and the computer monitor, which displays the shop’s inventory and job list.
I hear the shop’s door open and close, the squeak of machinery, then Hank’s voice calling for me to come to the office to go over our jobs for the day—same greeting every day: Rhett, get your scrawny ass in here—as the radio plays an old Highwaymen country tune.
A warm smile stretches over my face. “Coming, Hank. Let me just hang up my coat.”
I shrug out of my black down Moncler—a gift that showed up on my doorstep the first day there was a chill in the air—and hang it on the hook on the wall. I know how pricey it was. Of course I googled it, but I kept this gift, knowing I’d need it for the New York winter.
No one I work with will have any idea the coat was hand-delivered from Saks Fifth Avenue by a man in a suit jacket. These men only know two brands. Levi’s and Wranglers.
My boss’s grumpy voice rumbles through the place, deep and threatening. But I’ve learned there’s no bite to his bark. He’s just a big teddy bear. “Now, Rhett. Someone’s on my goddamn phone for you and you know I don’t allow personal calls. Now come here and clear this line.”
Who would be calling me?
“Coming!” I rush to his office, my heavy work boots thudding against the concrete floor as I go.
He’s standing by his worn wood desk, a hand on his expansive hip. He wears his work uniform of denim and flannel. There’re papers scattered over the top of his desk as well as a black phone with a long cord. He holds the receiver stretched out toward me.
Seeing my face, his tone softens. “Phone’s for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking it from him.
“Make it quick,” Hank says, stepping out of the office.
I smile at his broad back as he leaves. Big softie. He literally stayed late every night for the first two weeks I worked here, teaching me everything he knows.
I think he’s secretly proud of me, the only female mechanic we’ve got.
I hold the bulky phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Rhett.” The familiar sound of his voice is a shock.
I haven’t heard that sweet, sexy smoothness since I left him. That sounds cold. I didn’t leave him, leave him, per se. I just went off on my own. I needed to. But now… hearing his voice. My heart thrums harder. A white flash of heat comes over my face, crashing into my chest. My thoughts go into a spin cycle, swirling around in my head.
One thought moves to the forefront of my mind.
God, I miss him.
“It’s you!” The words blurt forth before I can stop them. “Why are you calling? I mean, why didn’t you call my cell?” I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Wait, I must sound incredibly rude. Sorry, I’m just surprised. You caught me off guard.”
